


Contract

by dabs_into_oblivion



Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Crowley is Loge's patron, Crowley is a demon, Dungeons & Dragons Character Backstory, Loge has trust issues, Loge is a sex worker, Loge is trans, M/M, Trans Male Character, backstory for my tiefling bardlock named Loge, world created by Patricia Wallinga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25594453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dabs_into_oblivion/pseuds/dabs_into_oblivion
Summary: Crowley makes Loge an offer that could change his life forever.
Series: dungeons & dragons stuff [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853539
Kudos: 2





	Contract

"Loge!" Lucy's bell-clear voice rises above the crowd that fills the guild hall, as do her hands, which are carrying drinks. Loge kisses her cheeks. He's always pleasantly surprised that he doesn't have to stoop much to do so.

Bending close to her ear, he asks, "Where's Garda?"

The elfling takes a sip of her drink. "On her way. She had a client." Her green eyes narrow. "Where's your boyfriend?"

"Oh my gods, he is not my boyfriend," says Loge, but he can't help scanning the crowd for a certain red-head.

"Right, right, he's still just a client." Lucy hands him the other drink. "Listen, babe, it's been almost three years. When are you gonna man up and ask him out for real?"

Loge shakes his head. "You know I can't."

She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her horn. "At some point you're gonna have to tell me who in the nine hells hurt you and how I can find them so I can destroy them."

He shoots her a laughing look. "You just want a fight."

"So? Where's the crime in that?"

With a shrug, he drains half of his drink. She doesn't want to fight his parents for him, she wants to do it for her. Which is fine, but doesn't give him much of a reason to trust her. Then again, he doesn't really trust anyone.

Lucy bends to scoop a halfling into her arms: her wife Garda, who smiles and waves hello to Loge. He returns her smile and turns away to give them a little privacy.

Marsh tugs his elbow. "Crowley's asking for you."

"Really? On my night off?" Loge sighs. "He knows my schedule. Why is he like this?"

"By 'like this' do you mean inconsiderate and disrespectful of your time?" asks Marsh. Loge ignores them, because of course they're right, and follows them outside the guild hall to where Crowley is leaning against the wall.

He pushes off the wall as they approach. Loge scans him, irrationally worried. He looks normal, but … no, there's definitely something off. He tenses.

"Loge." Crowley's voice is slightly strained, a little breathless. "I'm sorry, I know it's your night off."

Loge nods. A decision is on the tip of his tongue. Fuck it. He can take care of himself. He turns to Marsh. "You can go back inside if you want. You shouldn't have to give up your night off for me."

"A-are you sure?" Marsh's eyes dart back and forth between Loge and Crowley.

"I'm sure." Loge pushes past the trembling of his hands. "He's been a regular for almost three years. I trust him." Which is a lie, but no one needs to know that.

Marsh hesitates, then nods. "Okay. If you're not home by midnight, I'm gonna alert the city guard."

"Smart," drawls Crowley. "How good of you to protect my Loge."

Loge freezes. Did he just -- no, he didn't say that.

Marsh eyes Crowley suspiciously but walks back inside.

"I'll pay you triple," says Crowley.

Loge is about to say he doesn't care about the money, but he bites his tongue. A few more nights like this and he could actually have enough to pay for top surgery. He swallows and offers Crowley his arm. "Where to?"

Crowley smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Yours."

They walk. They don't speak. They don't touch. Loge counts his breaths.

They climb the stairs. Crowley settles into the sofa. Loge pours drinks. It's achingly familiar and horribly impersonal. Loge hands Crowley his drink and steps back, leaning on the mantlepiece. He expects the other man to ask him more questions about himself.

Crowley drinks. Sets his glass down. Turns his eyes on Loge.

"What do you know about me, Loge?"

Loge's breath comes fast and shallow. "Your name is Crowley. You're wealthy. You're not interested in sex. You might be an adventurer? You leave for irregular periods of time and you don't have a permanent home here." You're soft. You're kind to me. You see me.

The other nods. "I'm no adventurer and I like sex well enough, but the rest is true." He glances away. "I'm a fiend. A demon. Immortal. I'm quite powerful."

Loge stops breathing.

Crowley is still talking. "I can sense certain things about people, especially people I feel strongly about, and one of the things I sense about you is that you're not happy in your body."

Loge is clutching the mantlepiece.

"And I might have a way of, well, of giving you a body you'd be happier with." Crowley hesitates. "This wouldn't be free, you understand. You'd be giving me your soul."

"My soul," echoes Loge.

"Yes." Crowley is now looking directly at him. "Sometimes we immortals make … pacts with mortals. We give them something, they give us something. You'll get some magic -- not as much as me, you understand, just something to sweeten the deal -- and I'll get to call on you at any time for whatever I want.

"I'm new to this kind of thing, but I'm told we can dissolve the pact by mutual agreement at any time." He pauses. "The other option is that you'll die while in service to me. I really would prefer to be present in that event."

Several things suddenly become painfully clear to Loge. "You've been trying to hint at this for a while, haven't you?"

Crowley nods. "You're a bit of a masochist, darling. I figured that was why you were ignoring me. But I'm not prepared to let you go on living when you're this unhappy."

Loge bends down to pick up his drink, trying not to fall apart. Maybe Crowley hasn't considered the fact that Loge doesn't need to go on living. "So, uh, would I need to give you anything else? Besides my soul, I mean."

Crowley waves his hand and a piece of parchment appears in the air. He waves his other hand and a pen appears in it. Plucking the parchment from the air, he hands it to Loge, who scans it.

The Tiefling Loge's Contract with the Demon Crowley.

We the undersigned agree to abide by the terms of this contract until and unless we both choose to dissolve the agreement made therein.

Loge will receive from Crowley the following:

  * One penis and scrotum
  * Scarless removal of breast tissue
  * One Book of Shadows
  * The ability to cast all spells in the Book of Shadows, restricted by level



In return Loge will do the following:

  * Promise unlimited favours to be collected by Crowley at any point
  * Enter into other contracts or agreements only on the condition that they do not prevent him from fulfilling the terms of this contract
  * Not die except in the presence of Crowley



Signed, _____

Signed, _____

"I want to be taller," announces Loge. "Make that part of the contract."

Crowley's eyebrows rise. "Taller? How much taller?"

Loge considers. Smirks. "I want to be 6'9"."

"Nice," agrees Crowley. "Fine. You can have that, but you have to give me something. A sliver of skin from your chest should do."

"Oh, so you'll remove my tits without any scars but I'll have a scar from giving you a sliver of my skin?"

"Trust me, love, it'll only make you more attractive." Crowley grins. "You can wear your shirts half unbuttoned the way I do, I know how much you want to."

Loge feels like the ground underneath his feet is splitting open. He takes a deep breath. "Can I, uh, can I have some time to think about this?"

"Sure," says Crowley gently. "Take all the time you need."

"And -- and was there any particular reason why you had to do this tonight?"

Crowley, in the act of getting to his feet, pauses and straightens his cuffs. "No reason. I mean, once you sign the contract, you'll be an adventurer, and adventurers don't really get days off. So … get used to it." He lifts Loge's hand to his lips. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Don't be too good without me."

Before Loge can answer, he's gone in a puff of smoke. Guess he doesn't need to leave the usual way now that I know he's a demon.

Loge sits down in the spot that Crowley just vacated. The demon didn't finish his drink. Loge lifts it to his lips thoughtfully. If he closes his eyes, he can almost taste the demon's mouth on the glass.

Why is Crowley doing this? He's never struck Loge as being particularly kind or selfless. Sure, this contract gives him an eternal servant (although Loge isn't quite sure how eternal), but still …

"How good of you to protect my Loge."

"My Loge."

"My Loge."

He shakes his head. He doesn't belong to anyone. He doesn't trust anyone. He doesn't have a family. This contract is a means to an end. He can give the money he's been saving for top surgery to Urbana al-Sona's public housing fund. He can travel more, see more of the world. Maybe being an adventurer will fill some of the emptiness. Maybe he won't have to deal with the awful impersonality of having known someone for three years and still not trusting them. Maybe he'll get himself killed in a delightfully gruesome way.

He dashes the glass to the floor. He doesn't want to die. He wants -- he tucks his legs up under him on the sofa and wraps his arms around his torso. It doesn't matter what I want, he tells himself. I won't get it anyway.

He's still sitting like that when Marsh comes home, the contract on the table before him, the alcohol staining the floorboards. He's still sitting like that when Marsh goes to bed, having cleaned up the broken glass and the alcohol but having left the contract untouched. He's still sitting like that the next morning when Marsh wakes up and goes to the market. He's still sitting like that when Crowley comes in, the human way, because Loge didn't show up to work.

Crowley sits down next to Loge, not touching him, and waits.

Loge blinks. Shakes his head. Intentionally does not look at Crowley. "I'll sign the contract."

Crowley grins.

"But," adds Loge, "first I have to tell you something." He takes a deep breath. "It's about my family. Where I come from."

"Okay," says Crowley.

Loge unfolds one leg, letting his foot rest on the floor. "My birth name --"

"No, Loge, don't --"

"Crowley, please." Loge turns to look at him. "I have to do this. You trust me, right? That's why you want me to sign this contract? I have to trust you too."

"There are other ways of proving you trust me --"

"This is the way I've chosen." Loge's mouth draws into a line. "Please. I'm not -- I'm not good at asking for things, but I'm asking you for this."

Crowley nods. "Okay."

"My birth name," says Loge again, "is Eden. Eden Odensdaat. My mother's name is Maeve. She's a seamstress. My father is a farmer.

"We -- they -- we used to have goats. The goats aren't relevant. Um. I chose the name Loge because it means 'flame'. I didn't want to have any connection to my parents.

"I just. Uh. Okay. D-does this mean. Does it mean you're my family now?"

Crowley shifts. "Darling, I don't really understand the concept of family. It's a little too mortal for me. But, yes, I will protect you and look after you and give you tools to defend yourself with."

Loge lets his breath out. "Okay. Let's sign the contract, then."


End file.
